Let Her Go (series)
by korilove
Summary: Lydia finally reveals her feelings for Stiles - at the most inopportune time. Rated M for violence and mature themes.
1. All We Know Is Falling

_**A/N: ****So this is inspired from the rumors of a death and the stydia spoilers for s5 and multiple tumblr posts I've seen about them. (So trying not to get my hopes up but it's not working) The lyrics are from Never Let This Go by Paramore.**_

_**Unbeta'd as always. xoxo**_

_***Warnings in the end notes***_

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><p><strong>Maybe if my heart stops beating it won't hurt this much...<strong>

Cold.

That was the only way to describe how Lydia felt. The air in the warehouse was eerily calm, like all the movement in the world had suddenly stopped. Without that movement, the temperature in the room had dropped to absolute zero.

Which was ironic, because nothing can survive at absolute zero.

She had seen the flash of silver and heard the blade plunge into her chest, but she hadn't felt it. The pain she knew she should feel never came. She'd been trying to escape from the steel walls of her prison - but her captor had come back too early. She'd broken free of the ligatures around her wrists and neck, only to be stabbed in the chest with a hunting knife. It was like it happened in slow motion, but she was paralyzed, a helpless bystander to her own end. All she could do was listen to the voices, telling her that this was it. She was about to die - and yet - her banshee scream lodged in her throat, choking all sound. Not that she was sure she could scream anymore anyway - her throat had become sandpaper from overuse.

Her attacker smiled coolly, his pearly white fangs glistened in the dim lighting. The sight of his glee sent pangs of disgust to Lydia's stomach, enough that she had to choke back a violent gag in the back of her throat.

"Goodnight, Lydia." His voice was full of satisfaction, success dripped in his tone, while still remaining flat and nonchalant.

Peter Hale had always been good at getting what he wanted. Since he'd kidnapped her, he'd violated her space, her body, and her mind to finally get what he wanted from her. The way to destroy the true alpha he had unknowingly created all those years ago on a cold night in the woods, and in turn, destroying the rival pack in Beacon Hills. He was cold and calculating, choosing to throw suspicion from himself by not using his supernatural weapons to dispose of her.

Lydia watched from the resolute concrete floor as Peter turned away, his dark boots moving out of the room. Everything went still and silent, even the voices that had been swirling in her mind for the past 2 years had abandoned her.

She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and she wanted to tell someone - anyone - things only she knew. She wanted her last moments to be remembered. Instead, she was alone. Completely and utterly alone.

**Never will I have to answer again to anyone.**

A silent tear escaped her eye, cooling her cheek as it fell onto the dusty floor. Lydia let out a distraught sigh and closed her eyes, waiting for the end. For the light or the tunnel or _something_.

She doesn't know how long she'd been laying on the cool slab before she hears something. From out of nowhere, she swore she could hear footsteps. Faint at first, then growing louder. It almost sounded like running, frantic and fast.

She heard the door bang open, and a strangled sound come from the unfortunate soul who had come across the bloody scene. Suddenly she felt warm, strong hands collecting her from the ground, fingers cradling her head and lifting her into their lap. Lydia's eyes fluttered back open, only to see the one person she last expected.

Stiles.

He had bags under his eyes - he obviously hadn't slept since she was taken a few days ago. His dark hair was sticking up in every direction, and he was donning his usual plaid attire. The major difference she saw was his face. Instead of the usual external spasms and rambling sentences, he was almost stone-faced.

"Oh god, _Lyds_." He chokes out, his voice shaky and uneven. Lydia looks up and him, and their eyes lock. Leaking amber eyes search green, his fingers tangled in her hair, and his other hand resting on her chest under where the blade was still protruding. Lydia wills her voice to work, her small prayer of speaking out her last thoughts and having them heard granted.

"It was Peter, Stiles. You - you have to tell Scott." She whispers, clinical and methodical, even in the most emotional moment of her life.

"No. Lydia, You can tell him yourself." He says, moving his hand from her chest as if to retrieve something. She reaches her arm up and grasps his wrist as tightly as she can manage.

"Stiles, please. You have to tell Scott that it's Peter who's trying to kill him!" She pauses and Stiles tears his eyes from her, like he can't handle watching the blood drain from her face. "Okay?" She says as fiercely as he can manage. She needs Stiles to understand.

Lydia uses all the strength she can muster to squeeze his wrist harder to get his attention. "Promise me."

**I'll never let this go,**

She sees him trying to bite back sobs that are now wracking his body and he clutches her tighter. So tight, she feels her heart ache. She can almost hear his inner thoughts - "_No, Lydia you can't die. Not here, not now, not ever!_".

Instead, "I promise." is what he says, almost inaudible.

Lydia relaxes her grip on his wrist and feels her lungs struggling to familiar sense of dread becomes prominent, the banshee instincts pointing further that these will be her last moments. She knows it's nearly over, but she also knows she has to hold on for just another minute. She has so much left to say, and no plan on how to say it.

Trying to steady her very much intermittent breathing, she finds the courage to say what's been weighing on her mind and in her heart. It's now or never, and he deserves to know._ God_, does he deserve to know how she feels about him.

"Stiles, y-you need to know that I-" She tries, before he lifts up her face and cuts off her sentence with his lips.

Lydia doesn't have a chance to be surprised, she just gives into him. The kiss is salty and desperate, he's still holding her tightly and his thumbs are grazing her cheekbones. She returns the pressure with the same fervor, his lips soft and pliant. She can feels his tears mixing with her own and her hands involuntarily curling around his biceps.

As she kisses him, all the moments they've shared in the past few years comes bubbling to the surface. Hugs, stolen glances, solving supernatural mysteries, saving their friends. Lacrosse games, pack fights, the cold desert of Mexico. How her heart ached when she saw him finally move on, frustration and anger as they bickered about nothing and everything at the same time. And finally, the kiss in the locker room that made her question everything. Lydia's emotions crest over her in waves as she tries to communicate it all through their pressed lips; to the boy who stole her heart without her even really noticing, until it was too late.

Stiles slowly and softly pulls them apart, his forehead coming to rest on hers. His breathing is ragged, but the tears seem to have subsided. Then, he whispers lovely words that twist the not-so-proverbial knife that is already in her heart. "I know."

**But I can't find the words to tell you.**

He wraps his arms back around her, letting her relax in his lap. "I love you." She whispers, her voice cracking as she feels her eyes slowly closing.

Lydia feels a single tear drop onto her cheek from above, and she swears she hears Stiles whisper it back to her before the blackness swallows her. It consumes her thoughts, feelings, and breaths until there's nothing left.

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><p><em><strong>AN: **__****MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, implications of rape.****_

_**So I kinda hate myself for writing this. I've posted this as a series on ao3, but will be posting the one shots together here for easy reading on this site. Please don't hate me too much.**_

_**Check me out on tumblr - savingsciles**_


	2. I See It In Your Eyes

_**A/N: Stiles rushes to save a kidnapped Lydia, but it doesn't even occur to him that he might be too late. Stiles POV.**_

_**Music muse for this chapter (and the lyrics/title in the fic) is Wires by Athlete.**_

_**Unbeta'd as always. xoxo**_

_***Warnings in the end notes!***_

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><p><strong>Runnin' down corridors, through automatic doors.<strong>

As soon as they got the nod from Deaton, Stiles was gone.

The pack had only been waiting on confirmation that Lydia was being held in a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Oddly enough, Meredith had been the one to help them.

Not that he was complaining - He knew where Lydia was, and he was going to get her to safety.

The plan was for Scott and Kira to get the information from Meredith with help from Deaton, while Derek, Liam and Malia followed the trail of their unknown enemy. Braeden was holding the fort at the loft, letting Stiles rescue Lydia on his own.

The past couple of days had really shuffled Stiles' priorities - He's pretty sure Malia had understood right away what it meant when he spent all day and night searching for answers. She hadn't said anything yet, but he knew the conversation was coming. One he was definitely not looking forward to having.

He spots the warehouse in the windshield, and breaks hard to bring the jeep to a stop on the side of a deserted back road. Not even bothering to kill the engine, Stiles hopped out and ran for the steel doors.

He struggles to keep his balance, the plane of the field he runs through is very uneven. He even stumbles a couple of times, but manages to keep his footing. He gives a puff of relief when he reaches the warehouse, knowing that Lydia is inside and everything will be okay from here.

What he sees when he bursts through the door takes the air right out of his lungs, knocking the wind out of him.

Lydia is still wearing the green dress she'd been wearing 3 days ago, which was now torn and stained. The black heels she'd been wearing when he'd last seen her are no where in sight, her feet are blackened with dirt like she'd been running barefoot. Her hair is matted, the long tresses falling around her, but looking extremely disheveled. Her curled position on the dusty concrete floor made it hard to decipher if she was okay.

But the knife sticking out of her chest, and the pool of blood starting to form around her was a pretty good indicator.

**Got to get to you,**

Without thinking, Stiles rushes to her side. For a second, his breath catches and it dawns on him that she could be - Lydia Martin, the girl he's been in love with since he was 8 years old could be -

Stiles hears a raspy, strangled breath escape her lips, and his fears are temporarily put aside. She's alive, that's the main thing.

Hastily, he speed-dials Scott on his phone from inside his pocket, frantically pressing the 2. Scott would know that as soon as he was called, he needed to get to the warehouse immediately.

Stiles' next instinct is to hold Lydia, she's bleeding and hurt and he needs to make sure she's okay. He wraps his arms around her torso and back, lifting her into his lap - not much caring about the possibility of ruining his jeans. He can smell the rust aroma of the blood that is seemingly everywhere, and he chokes back a gag. Thankfully, he manages to hold down his stomach contents.

Lydia must be semi conscious, because as soon as she's laying in his arms, her eyelids flutter open. Green orbs peer up at him and warm relief floods through him. "Stiles." She whispers, her voice so low, he barely hears it. It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard.

"Oh god, Lyds." He says, his voice a lot less steady than he'd like. She looks so pale and weak - he knows his worry is splayed on his face, and she must see it. Lydia looks him dead in the eye, and he becomes more aware that he's openly crying in front of her.

The weakness he sees in her face and can feel in her pulse makes the tears worse, especially when she speaks again.

"It was Peter, Stiles. You - you have to tell Scott." She whispers, but louder than before. Even with no color left in her cheeks, she has a determined look on her face.

"No. Lydia, you can tell him yourself." Stiles says, moving his hand from where it was resting on her chest for a second - he can't stop it from shaking. He feels the blood rushing from his face, as he realizes his relief is short lived. Somehow, Lydia reaches her arm up and catches his wrist, and his hand steadies for a brief moment.

"Stiles, please. You have to tell Scott that it's Peter who's trying to kill him!" She pauses and Stiles tears his eyes from her. He can't believe this is happening, it's got to be a dream, a terrible dream. A nightmare.

"Okay?" Her voice is thick and she applies more pressure to his wrist, but barely enough that he could still writhe from her grasp if he wanted. The squeeze brings his attention to his fingers, which he counts out of habit.

1.

2.

3.

4.

**5.**

Stiles' blood runs cold. This isn't a dream. This is real. This is actually happening.

"Promise me." She says in a fierce whisper.

He wants to scream at her. She can't give up, not now, not ever. Not when he knows he's not over her and he won't ever be. Sobs involuntarily wrack his body, and he has to use every ounce of strength he has to try to keep them at bay.

**Got to see this through.**

But suddenly her eyes quickly flicker closed and then reopen, and he loses his resolve. How can he deny her, especially if it's her last request? He gives in and whispers "I promise."

Lydia's grip slackens, but she keeps her hand in contact with his skin. She gives him a weak smile before wincing - he can tell she's in a lot of pain, and he hates that there's nothing he can do but be with her.

When she speaks again, her voice is both light and heavy at the same time. She has a blazing hard look in her eyes, and his heart beat speeds up considerably. "Stiles, y-you need to know that I-"

Before she can continue, he lifts her up to him and swallows her words. Her lips are cracked but she presses back, and he feels like his heart is breaking. He's never seen Lydia so fragile, not in all the years he's known her. Not in all the times he's seen her nearly broken. Not when she was bitten on the lacrosse field the night of the formal. Not when Jackson died in her arms and came back to life. Not when she screamed for her best friend's life. Not even when she had been forced to listen to her grandmother being murdered on tape.

Lydia Martin was the strongest person he'd ever known.

Stiles desperately kisses her, sure that he'll never get another chance. He tries to pour every emotion he's ever had for her into it, because time is running out and he'll never be able to truly tell her. His hands cradle her cheeks, smearing the blood from her wounds into her skin.

Reluctantly, he pulls away from her mouth. His cheeks and nose are covered in a layer of moisture - his and Lydia's tears have mingled together.

Stiles lets out a shaky breath before leaning his forehead to hers. "I know." he tells her.

**I've seen Christmas lights, reflect in your eyes.**

Stiles clings to her, but she's fading fast. Her breaths are labored and shallow, and he mirrors them in his own breathing. Her eyes - which he's always thought had a certain sparkle that he couldn't place - are becoming dull and blank.

"I love you." As the words tumble out of Lydia's mouth, her hands fall from where they had been clutching his arms, back to her sides. Her eyes slowly close and he know's he's losing her.

"I love you, Lydia. I love you." He whispers over and over against her skin, his tears falling hard and fast onto her pale, colorless cheeks.

Stiles lets out a rough whimper and forces himself away from her face. With extra care not to slip on the puddle underneath him, he stands from the cold slab of ground, Lydia still cradled in his arms. Somehow, he finds the strength to make his way towards the door and carries her out of the warehouse.

**Looking at you now, you would never know.**

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><p><strong>AN: *MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, Some Graphic descriptions of death/Blood triggers.***

**Let me know how terrible you think I am, and possibly check me out on tumblr - savingsciles**


	3. Ghost Of You

_**A/N: Stiles is in denial about Lydia's fate, and this is the fallout. Stiles POV.**_

_**Music muse for this installment is The Ghost of You by My Chemical Romance (including lyrics used and the title).**_

_**Beta'd by the lovely huntersallisons! xoxo**_

_***Warnings in the End Notes!***_

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><p><strong>You are never coming home, never coming home<strong>

This isn't real.

The tile floor of the hospital is cold, but Stiles barely feels it. Numbness has seemingly spread throughout his body, the only thing he feels is a slight fuzzy sensation under his skin. Apparently, his defense mechanism has finally kicked in.

He's sitting on the floor just outside the morgue, his head sitting in his blood-stained hands. He hasn't moved from the spot since Melissa brought Lydia here.

No. Not Lydia, Lydia's **_body_.**

Stiles's hands start to shake a little more violently against his face as he tries to steady his breathing again. Trying to convince himself that he isn't dreaming is proving to be very difficult - it feels like any second he's going to wake up, gasping for air.

But nothing he does is working. Usually a panic attack or a death would wrangle him out of a painful nightmare, but both of those have happened. This nightmare isn't ending.

He goes over the details once again in his foggy mind, trying to make sense of it.

_Scott had pulled the jeep up to the warehouse's lane way just as Stiles had started to make his way towards the road - Lydia still clutched tightly in his arms._

_As the jeep came to an abrupt stop in front of him, Stiles had wrenched open the passenger door - with some difficulty, because he's holding a dying Lydia in his arms for Christ's sake - and clambered inside, never breaking contact with the bleeding girl._

_"Wha-" Scott started to ask, but Stiles was growing impatient with the lack of movement._

_"Just drive, I'll explain once she's okay." He says, breaking his gaze from the alpha to the paleness of Lydia's face._

_There was no hesitation from Scott, he just put the jeep in gear and sped off towards Beacon Hills Memorial._

_When they arrived, Scott had parked in the back of the hospital - which was customary when one of the pack had gotten injured. That way there were no supernatural existences that needed to be explained._

_Melissa met them at the back entrance, her face white as a ghost when she saw the reason they'd come. "Stiles, put her here." She says stoically, pointing to a gurney._

_Stiles carefully laid Lydia down on the cot, a little reluctant to let go of her. He hadn't broken contact with her since he'd found her, and it felt like he was severing off a limb somehow._

_Melissa had then wheeled her into the closest room, calling for a couple of trusted nurses who were in the know, but didn't allow the boys to follow her._

_Scott looked distraught, he had slid down from his standing position to looking at the floor and was wringing his hands. Stiles started to pace, unable to keep still as Lydia's fate was so unknown._

_As he walked back and forth in the hallway, he created a track of Lydia's blood on the floor - which had seeped into his clothes and onto his skin underneath. To anyone who could have walked by the scene, it might have appeared that Stiles was the one who needed medical attention._

_After what seemed like way too long, the hospital door creaked open, and Melissa slipped through it. Scott and Stiles both snapped their eyes to her, waiting expectantly for news._

_Melissa slowly pressed her lips together, closing her eyes for a moment before slowly shaking her head. "I'm sorry."_

**At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies, she dies.**

_Stiles hears Scott choke out a sob before he feels the familiar choking sensation take over him. His vision blurs and his hands tremble uncontrollably - Stiles gasps for breath as he dissolves into the floor._

_The panic attack hits him like a truck, his thoughts of holding Lydia and her last words play through his mind as if they are fragments. Her voice sounds through his head, soft and weak. "I love you."_

_He vaguely processes that Scott has scampered over to him, trying to get Stiles to listen to him - to get him to hold his breath. What he focuses on though is the blood that is still on his hands. Lydia's blood._

_It's thick and starting to dry a bit, but because of his shaking the blood starts to drip off his fingers. It sends little red droplets flying on the brilliant white floor, creating a morbid painting._

_Out of nowhere, Stiles hears a roar - jolting him enough that he moves away from the noise. Finally catching his breath, he realizes Scott's Alpha howl just brought him out of the attack._

_"Stiles, I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do." Scott says, tentatively shuffling closer to his best friend - as if he's unsure how he'll react._

_Stiles just leans his head on his best friends shoulder, as tears finally spill over his eyelids. Strong arms squeeze him tightly and he returns the same pressure._

_Stiles doesn't know how long he and Scott stay that way - sitting on the floor in the middle of the hallway, holding tightly onto each other and desperately trying to keep the other's pieces together._

**And All the things that you never ever told me,**

Stiles is snapped out of his memories by a hand grasping his shoulder. He looks up to see the origin.

Malia - beautiful and blunt and honest Malia - is standing above him, a sad smile on her face. She looks sadder than the piercing blue of her true eyes - but it's all under a layer of stoicness she's learned is easy to fake.

She doesn't speak, but slides down the wall to sit beside him.

The silence isn't uncomfortable, but there is an understanding. He knows that no friend reacts quite this way to another's death. Not that he and Lydia had ever gotten to be more than that, but he always felt something more for her.

"Malia-" Stiles' voice sounds out, cracked and broken.

"It's okay, Stiles." Malia shakes her head and interrupts before he can try to explain to her why things can't go back to how they were before. She places her hand on his knee and pats it before leaving it there, trying to reassure him.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, silently staring at steel doors that hold the banshee who, even in death, managed to drive them apart.

As soon as Kira enters the hallway, Malia stands up and rushes over to her, hugging her tightly. The movement forces Stiles to look up again and take in his surroundings.

Scott is standing between Kira and Derek - who's trying to comfort a silently crying Braeden. Liam is behind the group, looking down at the floor.

Malia and Kira haven't let go of the other, silently rocking back and forth. Braeden is leaning against Derek, and whispering words Stiles can't make out.

Liam ends up sitting on the other side of Stiles, while Scott sandwiches himself between his best friend and Kira. They all lean on each other, creating a small dog pile in the hallway.

But Stiles still feels incredibly numb - like it still isn't real. It can't be real.

At that moment, Melissa emerges from the heavy metal doors and lets out a sigh. She wrings her hands as she speaks.

"I haven't been able to get a hold of Lydia's dad, but John is going to talk to Natalie now." She says, treading lightly when she says the banshee's name.

No one from the pack moves, and Stiles just silently digests the information and lets it sink in. He's never going to see her again. He's never going to see her perfect smile, or the way her brow furrows when she's onto something important. She'll never graduate high school or college, or win a field's medal, never get married or have kids -

**And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me**

Without thinking or even realizing he's done it, Stiles stands up. "Can I see her?" He directs the question to Melissa as he makes his way over to her.

"Stiles, honey I don't think it's a good idea.."

"Mom. Please." Stiles pleads.

The hallway stays silent.

Stiles knows that he should feel guilty about using that word against her. He's used it once before, albeit not on purpose. In many ways she is the mother he wishes he still had, and he hates the look on her face when she hears it.

Melissa gives a small nod at him, her face showing all the emotion she's feeling. He can tell he's pulled on a string calling her mom, but he can't think about that right now. He pushes the guilt down as she allows him to pass by her - through the metal doors, into the cold truth of the morgue, and the body it holds.

**At the end of the world, or the last thing I see..**

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><p><em><strong>AN: ** MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, Blood triggers, panic attacks***_

_**How much do you hate me? Let me know here or on tumblr - savingsciles.**_


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